


Dapple Grey Morning

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul has an unusual visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dapple Grey Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Xenofon #1, Colleen Winters editor, and reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #17 both under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Do you see it?"_

 

It was exactly the kind of day he liked best for his morning workout.  The sun, just up, lay just below the hills that cut along the eastern side of the Cottage property.  The Pacific, quiet and calm, rocked against the sand as he ran through fog that was still thick enough to create a gray veil.  But even the perfect conditions were unable to free him from the troubled contemplation that locked his mind.

Three days ago his worldview had crumbled.

Three days ago Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse had met an old Indian man, a shaman, who had awakened in him stirrings and feelings he thought he'd buried long ago.  The old man had introduced him to the spirits of his people, the Westeskiwin.  They were not the spirits of Ironhorse's people, the Cherokee, but he understood them, and they in turn had accepted him.

Joseph Lonetree had chanted, sparking memories of the songs that Ironhorse's grandfather, another shaman, had sung many years earlier.  The songs had also called up a longing in the Special Forces officer, and that frightened him.

Ironhorse felt himself slip into that magic space where the run, the beach and the world around him merged.  He was one with himself, but could he ever be one with the legacy of his people?  The question nagged him.

The fog, obscuring his vision so he couldn't see the ground, made it credible to imagine that his feet were no longer bound by a mathematical formula to the hard-packed, damp sand beneath them.

He had seen the power Joseph Lonetree possessed, watched the old man destroy an alien warship with a song and a prayer-stick.  He'd seen the Thunder-being that had come at Lonetree's call.  He _saw_ it.

Ironhorse's breathing grew deeper, more rhythmic, matching the steady breath of the surf.  Every muscle, every cell of his being resonated with the whole of the earth and the sky.

He never considered himself a particularly religious or spiritual man, though his beliefs and feelings were deep and firm.  Maybe he was wrong.  Maybe it was time to recognize that side of himself.  In his mind, the chants he'd heard his grandfather sing to salute the powers of the four directions echoed serenely.

He picked up speed.

He was being given a second chance, an opportunity to connect with a part of himself that he'd always fled from, or denied.  Ironhorse had felt the power of the Bear when he'd chanted with Lonetree, and he'd felt his own totem guides close by.

He pushed himself harder.  And maybe he could fly… if he just believed enough to let himself go…

When she arrived was unknown, but when Ironhorse realized that he was being matched by a young woman riding a large dapple-gray mare, he nearly tumbled headlong into the sand in his haste to stop.  The animal's color, like camouflage in the Pacific fog, made it difficult to keep the outlines clear and the Colonel blinked several times before he was sure he was really seeing something there.

"How…?" he panted.  "How did you get here?"

The young woman smiled.  She looked slightly Indian, with long black hair hanging over her shoulders, nearly reaching her lap, but it was pale blue eyes that regarded him.  He guessed she was shorter and lighter than Suzanne, and her age was hard to guess – although he decided mid-twenties would be close.

"I rode," she said.

The Colonel's eyes narrowed.  "I can see that.  But how did you get past the security guard?"

"Guard?" she questioned.  "I didn't see anyone.  The beach was empty until I found you."

Ironhorse scowled.  Some soldier was going to be in serious trouble if he found out the man had abandoned the guard post.

"This is private property," Ironhorse told her.

"It's a beach," she responded, cocking her head slightly to one side.  "This part connected to the parts on either side.  You look troubled.  Would you like to talk?"

Ironhorse's eyebrows rose.  How had she seen his inner turmoil so clearly?  Even Harrison Blackwood, the leader of the Project he was assigned to, and his friend, had missed the conflicting feelings the encounter with Lonetree provoked in the soldier.

"I can't," he replied.  But he wanted to talk to this woman.  _This is crazy!  I don't know who this woman is!  She could be an alien_.  The thought hardened his resolve.  "Who are you?"

"You look tired.  Would you like to ride?"

The Colonel was ready to reach for the small knife he carried, strapped to his ankle when he realized she was right.  He was tired.  _Why?_ he wondered.  _I still have three miles to go.  I shouldn't be tired.  Who is this woman?_

"You'd like to ride."

"Yes," he said, "I'd like to ride."  Stepping forward, Ironhorse reached up and wove his fingers into the black and white mane and swung up behind the woman.  He wondered even as he did why it seemed so effortless when the horse was so large.  From his new vantage point he studied the graceful animal.

The mare pranced lightly across the sand as he settled behind the woman.  The gray was so dark in places she was nearly black, but the dapples caught the few streaks of sunlight slipping past the overcast and incited the pattern to dance.  Small ears pricked forward, unconcerned with the additional burden.  She shook her large head.  _Arabian_ , he thought, although she was thicker than most of the breed he'd seen. Blooded horses like this weren't common in the poor Oklahoma Indian town where he'd grown up.

The mare moved with an uncanny suppleness, pacing across the hard-packed sand.  The woman inched forward slightly to give him more room on the horse's bare back.

"Tell me what troubles you," she said.

He wanted to ask her again who she was, how she had gotten there, but he couldn't.  Instead he heard the words she asked for tumbling across his lips as if he no control over them.  "I'm being called back to a path I abandoned a long time ago.  It scares me."

"The path of the spirit?"

"Yes."

"Why does it frighten you, Paul Ironhorse?"

"I… I don't know."

The mare snorted and jiggled her head, causing the woman to laugh.

"What?" he asked.

" _Unci_ says you do know, but you're afraid to face the understanding."

" _Unci_?" Ironhorse asked, the word was familiar, an Indian word he'd heard before, but it wasn't Cherokee… Lakota?

"Grandmother," the young woman translated.

The Colonel stiffened and the mare sidestepped, pitching her head as she blew a series of snorts directed at him.  She was laughing at his discomfort.  "Is this real?" he asked.

It was the young woman's turn to laugh.  "Yes, Paul, this is real."

"But who are you?"

"I've been called many things, by many different peoples, but the English will serve us here.  I am Horse Woman."

"Why are you here?"

"I carry a message, an invitation.  It's time you walked the Good-Red-Road again."

The officer remained silent, only speaking after the mare prodded him with a pointed swish of her long tail, the tip of the hairs stinging the back of his hand that rested on his thigh.

"I can't.  I'm a soldier.  I have a duty to my country.  I have a mission."

"You have other duties, Paul Ironhorse, to yourself, your people, and even to your world."

"You know about—?"

"I know of your battle, but it cannot be won using the methods of the white world alone."

"But else what can I do?  I have responsibilities here.  I can't—"

"There are many ways to learn, just as there are many ways to cry for a vision.  You cried for this vision and I have come.  Listen to what I tell you.  Walk the path of power.  Learn.  Do not forsake anything that your history or your heritage can give you."

The mare stopped and Ironhorse slid to the ground.  He was at the end of the beach section of his run, the path now curved inland, back toward the Cottage.  He looked at the narrow pathway, then turned back to the woman, but only the dapple-gray mare stared back, her blue eyes reflecting a depth of wisdom he thought impossible.

"I don't know if I can do what you're asking me," he said honestly.

The mare stepped forward, her soft muzzle butting against his shoulder, soft hairs poking his neck, and Ironhorse couldn't stop the smile it elicited.  The horse's breath, warm on his neck, raised goose bumps down his arms.

"Remember well, _hoksi_ [1]," he heard in his mind.  "You are blessed.  Few are called to hear the spirits of their people, and fewer still to hear the spirits of others.  Walk the Good-Red-Way and you will succeed.  And, remember, you will not walk alone.  Those of all colors are being called to the path.  It will take all of you to form a rainbow strong enough to defeat the enemies you face."

Ironhorse reached up, allowing his hand to slide along the mare's jaw, fingers finally tangling in her mane.  Stepping closer, he wrapped his other arm around the gray's neck, embracing her like a small child.  A soft whicker comforted him.

"I will try, Grandmother."

"You can do no more, _hoksi_."

Stepping back, Ironhorse watched the mare toss her head proudly.  Her front hooves pawed the air for a moment, then landed in the sand with a soft _thud_.  Then, with a quick sidestep, she was away down the beach, mane and tail streaming behind like a wake.  The echo of a nicker reached him before it was lost to the sounds of the surf.

Ironhorse watched until he felt the hand on his shoulder, then he jumped.

"What's wrong, Colonel, slowing down a little these days?"

Harrison.

The astrophysicist chuckled, then continued with his morning run.

"Blackwood!"

Harrison stopped and looked back at the officer.  "What?"

"Do you see it?" Ironhorse asked, motioning down the beach where the dappled-gray was slowly blending into the thinning fog.

"See what?"

"The horse—"

"Horse?"  Harrison's brow furrowed.  "Is this a joke, Colonel?"

"Of course not, I—"  He broke off.  It was useless.  The mare was gone like she'd never been there to begin with.  He glanced down as a wave eased up the beach to nibble at his running shoes.  He watched the water retreat, carrying with it the hoof tracks that had been etched into the sand.

"Colonel, it's too early in the morning to be trying out your developing sense of humor."

Ironhorse looked up sharply.  "Trying out, doctor?  Developing?"

Blackwood grinned.  "I'll see you back at the Cottage, Colonel."  The lanky astrophysicist headed off down the trail.  "Try to keep up!"

Ironhorse watched him for a moment, then shook his head and jogged back, his mind filled with images of a young woman and a dapple-gray mare.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Harrison knocked on the door to the Colonel's office, then leaned his head in.  Ironhorse was studying a book, and whatever it was, it had his full attention.

Stepping inside, Blackwood walked over to see what it was.  Peering over the officer's shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a young Indian woman sitting on a large, beautiful gray horse.  Ironhorse snapped the book shut, startled by the intrusion.  Harrison noted the title, _Myths and Legends of the Native Americans_.

"Reading for pleasure or something more, Colonel?"

"Uh," Paul hedged, a blush coloring his cheeks, "pleasure."  The military demeanor fell securely into place.  "Was there something I can do for you, Doctor?"

"I just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready."

"Thank you," Ironhorse said, stepping away to return the book to its place on the bookshelf.  "I suggest we don't keep Mrs. Pennyworth waiting."

Harrison nodded and followed him out, checking over his shoulder for the exact location of the book.  Maybe later he'd have a chance to slip in and see what the woman and the horse were all about.

  


* * *

[1] Child.


End file.
